


Visions Interrupted

by Nyx Midnight (nyxmidnight)



Category: Shin Megami Tensei: Nocturne
Genre: M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-12
Updated: 2012-05-12
Packaged: 2017-11-05 05:48:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/403096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyxmidnight/pseuds/Nyx%20Midnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dante has something interesting to show Shu.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Visions Interrupted

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Springkink Winter ’08  
> Prompt: Shin Megami Tensei: Nocturne – Collector Manikin/Futomimi, Demi-Fiend/Dante – Voyeurism – How do you think that works?

Shura lightly slapped the back of Dante’s head when he finally found him crouched against the wall in one of the sandy, drab hallways of Asakusa. “I told you Mothmen weren’t edible, dumbass.” He was swiftly grabbed by the arm and pulled down then silenced by a big gloved hand as an answer.

“Shhh. Got somethin’ here you’ll appreciate,” he whispered before he nearly shoved Shura’s face against the wall.

At least, it seemed that way, until Shura saw there was a crack in the wall, and holy shit, Futomimi was sitting on the other side of said crack. Not only that, but he had his hair down, his robe around his waist, and was pulling another person closer to kiss her... wait, _him_. “Shit,” Shura hissed as he recognized the Collector Manikin.

“I knew you’d like that,” Dante whispered in his ear.

Shura could almost hear the smug grin plastered on Dante’s face. “You’re sick.” Yet, he couldn’t tear his gaze his gaze away when Futomimi pushed the hood up and over the Collector’s head, revealing short, tousled hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. Futomimi cupped the Collector’s face and kissed him lovingly, grunting a bit when Collector nearly jumped on him like an excited puppy and pinned him down on the mats they were using as makeshift bed. He frowned at the Collector slightly, who did his best to look contrite, but Shura only had eyes for Futomimi’s lips, moist and reddened ever-so-slightly from the kiss. Fuck, he wanted those lips against his, just once...

“Says the boy who can’t look away...” Dante almost singsonged in his ear as he grabbed Shura’s hard cock through his shorts.

Groaning, Shura tried to elbow Dante. “You’re the one holding me here!” he growled, freezing when he caught sight of Futomimi, robe twisted around his knees, pining one of the naked Collector’s wrist on the floor as he licked and suckled on a nipple, all his movement deliberate and gentle. There went his vision of Futomimi as a pure and chaste religious leader type and Collector as too gentle and almost too childlike in his manners to be even aware of how sex worked. Except now he wondered where they had learned at all... and his mind went places he’d rather it not go.

He drew in a breath through his teeth as Dante began to grope and stroke him through his pants. “Nice, but kinda slow,” Dante commented. “Should’ve known they’d still be figuring how that works. Kinda makes you wish you could fast-forward huh?”

Shura stayed speechless for a moment. “How can you be so crass all the damn time? Futomimi is having a private moment! Leave him alone!” He struggled to free himself even as Dante squeezed his painful erection.

“Oh, like you don’t jerk yourself to fantasies of him,” Dante answered with a snort as he let Shura go. Let him go be in denial somewhere else.

“That’s completely different!” Shura retorted, raising his voice perhaps a little more than he should. “Get up! I’m leaving and so are you!”

“What?” Dante looked at Shura indignantly. “Who died and made you boss?”

“I kicked your stupid ass, so I am your boss! Get up! Now!” Shura grabbed Dante by the sleeve and spun around to leave, only to freeze in his path.

If the sight of Futomimi disrobed with his hair undone had made him hot earlier, nothing could make his demi-fiend blood run cold more effectively than the sight before him: Futomimi and the Collector with their robes hastily thrown on, Futomimi with his hair tousled and the Collector without his mask hiding the scar spreading over his forehead and temple, both looking like they were ready to choke the proverbial bitch.

Shura’s only thought was that for once he would probably not be able to talk Futomimi out of that one.


End file.
